


Stolen Bases, Stolen Glances

by Anonymississippi



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Initial meeting AU sorta, Softball AU, Sports, and it's fluffy, hollence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True freshman for the Silas Griffins, one second baseman Laura Hollis, really wants to hit that... off-speed pitch, thrown by all-star hurler Danny Lawrence. She's not just a good screw... ball pitcher, she's also Laura's lit TA, and is super concerned with their missing third baseman. One night after practice, Laura stays late to take on their six-foot plus captain in the age old slapper-versus-leftie pitcher showdown. Shenanigans and flirtatious hand signals ensue.</p>
<p>*Cue music for "Take Me out to the Ballgame", that should definitely be changed to "Take Me out on a Pie Date"* </p>
<p>AKA... the softball AU I've had sitting on my desktop since May.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Bases, Stolen Glances

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, everyone should know that I'm forever here for Danny Lawrence. I ship her with it all, because she is just awesome to me. And since these last few episodes have been heavy on the Hollence (more brotp material, I think, but it's so nice to have Danny back on the screen!), I've resurrected this little fluffy Hollence AU I'd started writing back when the NCAA championship was going on in May. 
> 
> So for all you Hollence shippers catatonic with glee, here's more fluffy themed nonsense for your perusal. I'm going to be frankly amazed if there are any readers, given the vast majority of fics on this site lean toward the Hollstein. I'll just be over here, multi-shipping Danny with pretty much everyone on the show.

Laura fouled off another ball down the third baseline. She hadn’t connected solidly, so the bat pulsed jarring vibrations up to her elbows despite the batting gloves she wore for grip. It was the fourteenth pitch of the at bat, and she _still_ had only two balls down on the count. Two strikes against her, and she didn’t know if she could keep fouling down the line without the pitcher slacking in speed. Seventy-mile-an-hour riseballs and wonky screws, and she’d _nearly_ gone down with a backwards K on a beautiful off-speed that had drifted in over the plate’s river but Perry, mercifully, had called it ball.

She’d never been one to feel sorry for herself over situations she couldn’t control, so she’d always used her height to her advantage. There was no strike zone for a diminutive slapper like Laura Hollis. Her on-base average was the highest on her travel ball team back home.

But stature didn’t matter against a staggeringly beautiful—uh, _seasoned_ pitcher like the one windmilling her arm repeatedly before Laura.           

“C’mon Hollis, you got this,” she muttered to herself, tucking the brim of her helmet down lower over her brow.

The lights were up and the stadium was deserted save for the four of them. Coach had called practice hours ago, Silas University’s _no-school-sponsored-athletic-clubs-shall-meet-after-the-onset-of-twilight_ rule confusing and incomprehensible for the true freshman. How were they supposed to host series games if they couldn’t play after dark? Laura shrugged and stepped out of the box to stretch her arm and take yet another practice cut, recalling the start of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

She’d had a great defensive practice and had made two or three technically difficult stops at second (fielding a doozie of a backhanded grounder on the slide with more effort and heart than physical finesse) that had left the team and coaches somewhat impressed with the newbie player. The Silas Griffins had begun their off-season strength training and team-building exercises just last week, and had only just moved to the field and the cages to brush up on some back-to-basics rules of the diamond. Laura was embarrassed to admit she still hadn’t mastered everyone’s names. Lots of fielding practice, bunts and slaps for the corners, lines for short and second, and a series of fly balls that seemed to hang longer than normal (gravity possibly negligible in central Europe?) for the outfielders.

Laura bonded immediately with the catcher, a bio major with a penchant for dug out shenanigans. Who knew all that well-oiled leather in their gloves was so flammable?

Not herself.

And certainly not LaF. Well, LaFontaine, as they were called.

Coach had called the session just before dusk. Laura had heard him mumble something about a waxing gibbous and banshee shrieks, and had seen the bearded, gruff little dwarf of a head coach depart, a pocket radio with a sportscast out of some place called Nightvale glued to his ear. He trudged toward the cypress woods behind the fenced-off warning track in the outfield sans backwards glance. He had taken three of the team’s practice bats with him without checking them out on the locker room equipment sheet, which certainly registered as strange to a player whose father had coached her all through high school and club teams, promoting regimented discipline and field first-aid for every practice, game and tournament. Laura had never wanted to be the ‘daddy’s girl’ player, and she certainly wanted to do away with that stereotype by playing at a legit institution that had made the rounds on the fast-pitch European championship circuit. So instead of signing with a D-I school back home, she’d packed her cleats and visor and hopped a flight to some place called Styria, and had yet to regret her decision… for the most part.

For this practice, Laura opted to stay behind and take a few throws to second from LaF, who’d said their arm needed some loosening after an unfortunate incident with a syringe and some muscle relaxants.

(“I’m a bio major.”

“That doesn’t explain numbness in your arm. Or the fact that you have a case of medical syringes in your bat bag.”

“Keep your head down and try to hold off on the questions, frosh.”)

And Laura had enjoyed it so much, the red clay, the sweat, the bugs flying close to burning lights overhead and the grossly familiar taste of salt and grit stuck under her tongue, between her molars.

Until one of the pitching staff had snuck out in the box on the third base line to watch her, and Laura’d nearly been conked in the head by one of LaF’s rogue throws.

“Easy there, freshman,” the pitcher said from the sidelines. “Can’t have our infielders going unconscious. It’s not even the preseason yet.”

Laura turned to retrieve the ball she’d barely deflected with her glove. That’s right. She didn’t turn to hide her blush. Because she wasn’t blushing. The clay was just smudged on her face. Exactly. Field dirt. Not heat. Nope. Definitely not… facial… warmth…

Because it’s not like ace senior pitcher and academic athlete of the previous two years Danny Lawrence was making her blush. Nope. Totally not blushing at pants tight enough to leave little to the imagination. It’s not like the girl was all legs and freckles and muscles and _crap_ , tall enough to change that one wonky bulb in Laura’s dorm room that Laura’d convinced herself wasn’t blinking _S-O-S-H-E-L-P-M-E_ in Morse code. Not like Laura had scouted Danny Lawrence and knew her batting average, on-base average, ERA, RBI, and pitch-count per game. Not like Laura dug it all up using the indexes her sports journalism classes afforded her. Not like Laura was inquisitive, and put that nosiness of hers to good use to check up on the relationship status of her star teammate with some classic social media surveillance.

Not like… any of that.

“Hey!” Danny yelled, once Laura had turned back around. “You’re Laura, right?”

Laura was keenly aware of the crescent moon shaped sweat stains blooming from under her armpits in her practice jersey, as well as the smudges of red covering her face and bottom, the stickiness of her lengthy ponytail against the nape of her neck.

_‘Atta girl, Hollis._

“Yeah,” Laura hollered, jogging across the dirt toward where LaF and Perry had congregated near the six-foot all-star. “Hollis,” Laura supplied extending a dirt-smothered hand. “Uh,” Laura retracted her hand swiftly, rubbing it on the side of her clay-darkened pants. “Sorry.”

“Not an issue, Hollis,” Danny smiled, extending her own hand in greeting. “We’re not afraid of a little dirt out here.”

Danny shook Laura’s hand, and it took an obscene amount of composure (because _seriously?_ Danny Leftie Lawrence was shaking her hand!) to screw her features into a normal (c’mon Laura, you got this, she’s just an exceptionally attractive individual with more talent in her pinky than you’ve got in your entire body) expression of face-to-face greeting.

“Well, except maybe Perry over there,” Danny nodded good-naturedly to the team trainer, sitting atop a bucket of balls with a clipboard in hand. “She’d probably preferred the shininess of the basketball court, but hey, she’s gotta get the credit somewhere.”

“Totally!” Laura said, then cursed herself because, really, _c’mon Laura_ , she didn’t know Perry that well yet. Or anybody well yet, for that matter. She’d been at school for a couple of weeks, but the team was a new animal she’d yet to tame.

And it _really_ didn’t help that Danny doubled as her lit TA. Sure, the lecture she was in was huge, but she’d spoken up in the smaller group discussion segments a handful of times. Laura hadn’t actually spoken to the Amazonian goddess—woman—teacher… uh, teammate.

Yes, just her teammate. Laura had been burned before crushing on a fellow player and whoooooiiiiee, definitely didn’t want a repeat of that experience. It had cost her some playing time and a decent chunk of self-respect. But if Danny ever wanted to give her some study suggestions or fielding tips… and then there was the locker room where she could be just… very… not creepy…or objectifying… _get it together, Laura_!

“So what do you say, Hollis?” Danny asked.

“I…uh… what?”

Danny started pulling her hair up into a ponytail and again, it was very difficult for Laura to keep herself from drooling, because… _damn_.

“I asked if you wanted to try me,” Danny grinned easily.

“I… wanna… try?” Laura gulped, mind woefully incapable of producing valid thought-to-sentence constructions.

“Awesome. Grad a bat, lemme warm up a little,” Danny turned on her cleated heel to grab her glove from the dug out.

“LaF?”

“Yeah, Frosh?”

“What did I just agree to?”

“Oh, you know, taking some swings against the best pitcher on the European circuit.”

“Right.”

“And placing a bet that she couldn’t strike you out.”

“Sure.”

“ _And_ saying you could definitely use some extra practice.”

“Well, I can,” Laura mumbled defensively.

“It was suggestive,” LaF said, a brow skyrocketing heavenwards.

“Cripes,” Laura said, stuffing her face in her glove. The smells of week-old sweat and dirtied bacteria weren’t nearly as potent as her impending embarrassment. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“How many freckles does Danny have?” LaF asked.

“Thirty-seven, but I stopped counting at her right cheek.”

“Riiiiiiiiight,” LaF drawled, slapping Laura over the shoulder. “Well, better grab your gear,” LaF said, going to retrieve her catcher’s mask.

“Grab my… gear,” Laura verbalized, slinking toward the dugout with trepidation and giddy anxiety curdling in her gut like a freezer-burned ice-cream cookie sandwich.

 

* * *

 

 

Which found Laura in the in the batter’s box, under the Silas field lights, on pitch fourteen, staring Danny down with only 43 feet of space separating them. Because of her late birthday, she’d still been able to play some summer ball, so she wasn’t nearly as out of practice on basic swing mechanics as the other collegiate players. She was only a week in but she’d had to shorten her swing already, and, judging from Danny’s winsome grin, would likely have to readjust even further before the start of the season proper.

“I always like match-ups with you slappers,” Danny said, untucking the towel from the back of her waistband. She wiped at her forehead and Laura whimpered, which she prayed wasn’t audible through the mask of her helmet.

“Why’s that?” Laura asked, shouldering her bat and setting up once again in the box.

Danny just narrowed her eyes into a concentrated glare, and began the fluid swing motion that morphed into a rotation of open hips, a slingshot arm, and a snapping wrist. Laura was a bit behind registering the motion, but began her cross-footed approach as Danny hit her release—which started at Danny’s hip (Laura’s lower chest) and soared upward on a speedy trajectory.

Laura stutter-stepped, but she was all the way out of the box and half-way toward the pitcher’s circle.

“Ball!” Perry yelled, but Danny kept her pretty ( _why is she so gorgeous?_ ) grin in place.

“Because you guys practically come out to visit me on every pitch,” Danny said, noting Laura’s approach toward the circle. “It gets kinda lonely out here.”

Danny caught the return throw and Laura kept staring, waging an internal screaming match between hormones and training, knowing very well there was no need to cover ten feet during an approaching pitch, yet somehow justifying the approach by Danny’s blatant magnetism. The pitching ace was a planet with her own gravity, and Laura a meteorite burning up upon atmospheric approach. It was just early fall, cool enough not to sweat through her practice jersey, but Danny somehow sent heat spiking to areas of her body where heat should definitely _not_ be spiking during real play-time.

_Just a crush, Hollis. You’ll get a handle on it come time for the real season_.

“Well, you know you’ve got me to back you up,” Laura said, the bat on her shoulder hitting the ground with a _tink_.

“I do?” Danny said, bending ( _crap, BENDING_ ) down to the ground to rub some dirt on her hands.

“That is… uhm… if I see any field time,” Laura said, because they were talking about _softball_. “And the rest of the team, of course. It’s not all on you. You can’t carry the team all by yourself… on your… hips—shoulders!” Laura coughed. “You can’t, that is—uh, carry the team on your shoulders.”

“What about my hips?” Danny asked, and Laura couldn’t tell if it was polite curiosity or crap… _flirting_ that she was about to get herself into. “’Cause you’ve got fast hands and pretty open hips on your swing, I can see why coach fought so hard for you in the recruiting class.”

“I—I’ve got—because—swing—thanks!” Laura squeaked, backpedaling without tripping this time.

She was grumbling to herself and saw LaF cut her a knowing glance from behind their catcher’s mask.

“Don’t you start,” Laura commanded under her breath, but LaF did naught but reset their crouch and pound their free fist into a mitt.

“That’s three balls, two strikes, and something like seven or eight fouls on you Laura,” Perry said. “Very impressive, but it _is_ getting late.”

“Yeah, Danny, stop playing around,” LaF said, shooting their fingers in a quick patterned succession.

Laura noted the pinch of Danny’s eyebrows, the tip of her tongue between her lips, the dirt covering those thirty-seven freckles… and was half-way through her swing before she even thought to get her eye on the ball…

… until it rammed the right side of her torso, leaving her breathless.

“Laura!”

“Laura!”

“Eergh,” Laura gasped, because _heck_ , she’d literally run into that one.

“God, Laura, I’m so sorry!” Danny exclaimed, jogging towards her.

“—s alright,” Laura murmured, gritting through it. She’d been hit worse before, but she’d never _walked into a low 60s screw because she was distracted by the pitcher_.

“That’s not one you’re gonna shake off, frosh,” LaF said, gently touching Laura’s shoulder.

Laura was doubled over, clutching her side, which, _seriously Hollis???_ could have been avoided if she hadn’t been so focused on Danny’s hips.

“This is all my fault,” Danny muttered, sinking to a kneel beside Laura on the field.

“I’m going to get the first-aid kit!” Perry sputtered, turning abruptly for the dugout.

“Don’t bother,” Laura said, “Just a… just knocked the wind out of me, I’m good.”

“We should at least get some ice on it,” Danny said. “What were you thinking, calling the screw on a leftie who comes out that far?”

“I was _thinking_ that it’s an hour after dark and we need to get out of here before the harpies start snatching all the fly balls out of the air—”

“C’mon guys, it was an accident,” Laura said, wincing.

Additionally, _harpies_???

“Seriously Laura, I’m so sorry. Lemme take you to the locker room,” Danny said, drooping like a dehydrated rose. “I’ve had my fair share of minor blunt-force traumas.”

The four scuttled off toward the locker room, Perry chiding LaF about the current state of the pair’s dorm room, and the hazard of leaving loaded syringes with known muscle relaxants out for anyone to get pricked by.

“Susan, anyone who visits will—”

“LaFontaine.”

“Right, anyone who visits will go all jelly-legs like a limp noodle. So cap your needles, please.”

“Sure, Per,” LaF said, stowing their gear in a locker.

“Training room’s back here,” Danny said, motioning toward a side room that smelled vaguely of stale sweat, feet, and antiseptic. Laura followed and watched Danny expertly flick all the light switches and tromp over to the ice machine, snatching a plastic bag from a shelf and setting to fill it.

“You can sit over on one of those tables,” Danny motioned to one of three high exam tables covered in faded blue leather.

Laura clambered on top of one, wondering why Silas opted to spend more money on the medical facilities for athletics as opposed to actual playing fields, stadiums, and locker rooms.

_Must be an insurance thing._

She studied Danny as the pitcher filled the bag and grabbed some sort of shawl-like wrap from a cabinet.

“Take your shirt off,” Danny mumbled.

Laura’s eyes bugged wide.

“I—shirt—w-what?” Laura babbled.

Danny halted, her expression full of confusion that slowly melted into bashfulness. She looked like a scolded puppy with limbs too big for itself, having dislodged some priceless antique and broken it beyond repair.

“So I can… to put the ice on it.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Laura said, reaching to untuck the practice shirt from her waistband. She managed well enough with the front buttons and was able to shrug the dirtied jersey off with little to-do. The tank-top plastered to her skin, however…

“Uh…Hmm,” Laura muttered, thinking about the best way to rid herself of the tank. She decided traditional route, crossing her arms with minor discomfort to peel the tank from her torso, lifting it easily over her sides, until—

“Ow! Crap,” Laura yelped, dropping the piece back on her body.

“What is it?” Danny hurried over, setting the bag and stretchy bandage wrap aside. “What’s wrong?”

“Kinda… aches to pull this over my shoulders,” Laura said, kinking her elbows into position. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Can you raise your arms okay?” Danny asked.

Laura raised her arms at a one hundred degree angle and winced.

_Just gotta push through it_.

“Don’t strain yourself!” Danny chided lightly, placing a hand on Laura’s waist.

_Oh… shit_.

“What are you—?”

“I can, I mean… can I—?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” Laura said, finally meeting Danny’s eyes. “Go ahead,” Laura said, raising her arms as high and straight as she could without it hurting her side. Which turned out, was not very high or straight at all. Danny’s hands on her body were hot and gentle and cautious, slipping her tank top overhead with practiced detachment that suggested professionalism and… well, what Laura hoped was a little experience taking tank tops off of other girls.

“Ha, the last time a girl undressed me I wasn’t nearly this gross… or injured,” Laura supplied, to dispel the awkward tension.

Danny’s jaw unhinged a bit, forcing a mental facepalm on Laura’s end.

_Strike one._

Laura scrunched up her face and continued: “I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I… ha, just uh, getting a little of my nerves out, I guess.”

“Do I make you nervous?” Danny asked.

“You? I—no!” Laura spluttered, mouth gaping like some glassy-eyed haddock poured onto a dock and left gasping, struggling for dead.

_Strike two._

“I mean, I just don’t want to make an idiot of myself around all my new teammates. Not that I have anything to hide… or that I’m uncomfortable with myself, because I’m totally not,” Laura rambled, wincing slightly as a square foot of frozen plastic made contact with the right side of her torso. Danny moved closer and Laura could smell the sweat, feel the cold, revel in the tension. It was thick and dense enough she could lie back on it, like a mattress. But thinking of Danny and a mattress _really_ wasn’t helping the situation, so she focused on the cold currently penetrating the right side of her ribcage.

“I just— _hah!_ —like to ease people into the ole’ personality before it becomes apparent that my dorkiness far exceeds my athletic skill,” Laura raised her arm as best she could as Danny began wrapping the ice pack into place at her side. The taller woman’s focus—tug, circle, tug, circle, adjust, circle, tug—was unwavering.

Danny’s gaze was considerate, much like the TA’s own participation in class. Her eyes and fingers and mind moved with an observance of studious skill, like she’d set her sights on many a team member, student (or lover?) and offered that same attentiveness, that same observation and scrutiny that made the subject feel especially exceptional, whether they’d been beaned with a softball to the torso or no.

“Dorkiness? Is that a word?” Danny grinned. “I’d expect a better vocabulary out of you, given your first few essays.”

“You read my essays?” Laura asked, perking up at the implication.

_She’s paid attention to my work!_

“TA, remember?” Danny supplied.

“Sure, I mean, how could I _forget_ , really—”

“What?” Danny asked, grin growing, eyes seeming to twinkle into blue starlight like some gosh-darned Disney lyric incarnate.

“Be-be-because you’re on my team,” Laura said, taking a pointed interest in Danny’s arm, pressing the ice through the wrap at her waist. “And you’re a TA. Like, one thing’s enough, you know? I don’t know how you handle it.”

Danny shrugged it off. “I’m pretty organized. I hold office for the Summer Society, too.”

“Seriously? Plus school work?!”

“Like I said, hyper-organized. Practically Spartan, I just keep the armor in the basement.”

“I’m extremely impressed,” Laura admitted.

_Shoot. Why mouth, of all times to betray me do you pick now, with quite possibly the most stellar human on campus three inches from my body!_

“I can kinda tell,” Danny mumbled.

_Dammit to Hades. Strike Three._

“So… how’s your side?” Danny segued.

“Can’t really feel it anymore.”

“Ice.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Danny nodded, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “So, you wanna go grab some pie from the caf?”

“Huh?” Laura said, because she certainly didn’t hear that request correctly. Something about eating together in a social setting while getting to know each other’s likes and dislikes wasn’t on the agenda for one dorky Laura Hollis, especially if ace pitcher and all-around swoon-worthy girl crush Danny Lawrence was involved.

“Pie? You know, dessert?” Danny continued. “Flaky pastry that smells like home and comfort?”

“Yeah…” Laura said, but she dare not suggest Danny smell like home. Home was a field and sweat, hard work and physical trials… no matter the Harpie sightings on campus.

“Do you like it…?” Danny questioned.

There was this nifty line of flattened skin, forming an _m_ on Danny’s forehead from her raised eyebrows, an expression part hopeful and part tutorial, like she had to take Laura’s hand and walk her along the ask-and-answer session they were currently holding. Walk her along to the expected conclusion, which was…

“Sure. I love pie!” Laura answered. “I have a huge sweet tooth. Probably with a fissure as big as the Grand Canyon running through a few molars, thinking about just how many cookies I consume on the daily.”

“Well, good thing we’ve done some running and have the excuse to carb-up,” Danny said, guiding Laura’s hand down to the ice bag. It tingled in all the ways Laura imagined it would. Though that could have been the dirt and adrenaline. Or the ice. Whatever.

“You got it?” Danny asked.

“Yeah.”

“Here, hop down,” Danny said, extending her hand for a little extra support.

Laura grabbed hold and they did _the thing_ , the romantic comedy thing Laura had seen countless times onscreen and in her mind’s eye, imagining the first awkward physicality between protagonist and love interest, the brushing of torsos and meeting of eyes and steadying-withdrawing-patting-then-lowering of hands, because they were forced together by circumstance and everything that followed was simply the progression of narrative. Their torsos touched… innocently, incidentally. Nothing planned, just an unanticipated closeness that led to lingering stares and one hitched breath; Laura didn’t know if it was hers or Danny’s jittering diaphragm. They might have intertwined fingers; perhaps they merely clasped palms. It didn’t really matter, because they were touching, and _looking_ , and the corner of their lips turned upwards so that only one dimple was present, awash in reddish clay from the field, salty condensation from habitual sweat. They didn’t mind. The interaction bordered on intimacy.

An interaction as such usually ended with a kiss.

_Please oh please oh please let it end in a kiss. Like, while holding a trophy and a sports journalism award…_

_Not that I’ve considered it, or anything._

“Steady there, Hollis,” Danny said.

“I’m good.”

“Can’t have you breaking everything before we even get started properly, can we?” Danny asked, patting Laura’s shoulder easily. “Hold on and let me grab some stuff, then we can head toward the caf. I hear they’ve got blueberry special tonight, though they refuse to disclose the actual ingredients. Just be prepared for a boat load of synthetic blue dye number two.”

Laura watched Danny duck out of the training room, and for some reason… Danny’s initial question struck Laura harder than the pitch had. That question—getting properly started before a true beginning—it felt like the same scenario had played out in a parallel universe, maybe not on an athletic field but… similar, in some regard. At school, or, where they, the two of them, were building something—something promising, working together (friendsteammateslovers)— and then it all went south through no fault of their own. Laura wrangled her loose practice jersey back overhead and shoved the ice pack underneath the material, disregarding her overactive imagination. It was almost a good thing that she was stewing on weird, incomprehensible thoughts, that way she wouldn’t freak out over the fact that Danny Lawrence had just asked her to carb-up with a pie date.

Until a sonorous crash sounded from the equipment locker, which had Laura ping-ponging from giddy anxiousness to go-mode in .02 nanoseconds.

“Danny!” Laura hollered, limping-ish toward the storeroom.

“Ooof, down here, Hollis,” Danny said, and Laura could just make out a swath of skin that might have belonged to their star pitcher, buried beneath an avalanche of bats, gloves, and helmets.

“Are you okay?”

“I’d be better if coach showed the newbies how to log their equipment according to the checksheet. Not a lot of room in here. One false move—”

“And you’re buried underneath a mountain of Wilson products. I got you,” Laura answered, extending a palm downward. “You see me?”

“Yeah. I got you, Hollis.”

Danny maneuvered her way around a bunch of equipment and stood, climbing out of the mass of softball gloves and practices tees, metal helmet masks and soft-toss buckets.

“Guess we’re saving each other from the random attacks of equipment and assaults, huh Hollis?” Danny said, brushing a flirtatious thumb over Laura’s fingers.

Her torso might have been numb to the touch, but she definitely _felt that._

“I guess so. I don’t get to play the hero often,” Laura answered.

“You seem pretty feisty. Smart enough to carry the flag. I guess I’d follow you into battle,” Danny answered. “Or at least onto the field, right teammate?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Laura admitted sheepishly, because…well… _how could she not?_

“Really?” Danny asked, dropping her hand suddenly, as if she’d overstepped some boundary of camaraderie, burgeoning on the personal. No longer teammates just… something more.

“Of course,” Laura answered. “You’re the captain of the team. And the pitcher. Plus, you’ve got the whole TA gig, and you’re super gorgeous, and skilled, and talented, and just…” Laura felt the heat rising in her cheeks, some misplaced solar flare along her skin. “It would be impossible not to follow you anywhere, if you asked me to,” Laura said.

She was surprised by her own forwardness. And well... _I'm already in this far._

“And I’m just operating off of information I’ve gathered in a very… non-creepy stalker way," Laura rambled further. "But like… in a… I’m interested in you, sort of way. Actually getting to _know you_? Gates of hell, Mount Doom, Bermuda Triangle, the Fifth Dimension. I'd keep following. I mean… there’s a reason they made you captain, right?”

Danny stepped a little closer, and placed her hand on Laura’s bicep, gave it a gentle squeeze. Nothing sexual, nothing… suggestive, merely companionable, grateful, acknowledging a compliment otherwise not distributed.

“Thanks, frosh, as LaF might say,” Danny continued. “Nice to know we can save each other every now and then. I like a teammate I can count on. Sometimes I feel like I never quite belong anywhere. Infield or outfield. Batter or DP. I’m not quite… fully there, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Lonely in the circle.”

“Despite a field full of people behind you?”

“Sometimes you have to zone out. Do the thing you know is right at the time in that circle. Sacrifice some walks. Throw a few balls just for the sake of it, so the opposing batter will go chasing it. It’s a little daunting calling those shots.”

“You’ve got me behind you. Beside you. Hell, in front of you if the lineup doesn’t change between now and the season opener. Just… let other people fight with you on that field. Just because you’re the pitcher doesn’t mean you have to carry everything.”

Danny took a moment, then slid her fingers along Laura’s arm ( _oh blessed contact!)_ and down to her hand. They intertwined fingers, because _of course_ Danny was smooth as silk, had game like Monopoly and Scrabble and Battleship and Risk all rolled into the finesse of ginger-goddess.

_Yahtzee!_

“I’ll try, since you insist that you got my back, right Hollis?” Danny finished. “I got yours. That’s how teams work,” Danny explained.

“What if I’m interested in more than being your teammate?” Laura chanced.

Danny grinned, well aware of the suggestion. “Like being an extremely invested student?” she said, straightening up and tugging Laura closer, so that the injured girl was nearly flush with her own body, which had been previously buried under weighted bags of equipment. “There’s rules for stuff like that, you know?”

“I’m not beyond bending rules if I… if I really want something,” Laura supplied, speaking directly to Danny’s chest. “Do you know what I mean?” she asked through her most innocent lashes. She was eye level with Danny’s chest, all practice jersey and open, thudding, racing heart.

“Maybe,” Danny said cryptically, staring down at Laura, fingers intertwined all the while. “But I think pie might be a good means of clarification.”

“Let me make it blatantly obvious for you, then,” Laura said, dragging the back of Danny’s neck downward, with a tiny hand cupped at her hairline.

When their lips connected, it felt like the euphoria of a run-down between home plate and third base, a back and forth with high stakes, between safe bases and runs scored and an out tabulated for the other side. Laura felt the fleshy pucker of Danny’s thin, skilled mouth moving against hers, the swipe of a lip like a slash of the bat through the strike zone, meandering over her own mouth, determined and purposeful, though shy of actually hitting the mark.

It’s not like she expected Danny to shove her tongue down her throat at their first meeting, especially given the fact that the elder senior had somewhat wounded her in practice. Given her rather forward proposition, she didn’t think Danny would have touched her but _god…_ was she glad Danny did. There was a calloused palm on her left side and she could _feel_ it. Could legitimately register the touch that held her almost reverently, that probably spoiled her for every collegiate experience to be further cataloged because it felt so damn _perfect_. Because Danny Lawrence seemed legitimately _flawless_.

Laura wondered if Danny would ever falter from her pedestal. Seem human. With Danny’s lips carefully massaging her own and one sure hand wrapped around her uninjured side, Laura doubted it. She doubted if Danny would ever be bad at anything.

“So…” Danny pulled back, slightly flustered.

Laura swiped at her own lip in eager satisfaction.

“Pie date, then?”

“Uh huh,” Laura agreed articulately, smile unfurling like the ribbon on a surprise gift. Something she’d never expected, and then, once she’d opened it, had doubly exceeded her expectations.

“Cool,” Danny said, grabbing a bat out of the equipment stores.

“What’s that for?”

“Harpies,” Danny replied nonchalantly. “Ever since Elsie went missing, Coach doesn’t really care if we sign it out of the storeroom.”

“I heard about that,” Laura said, falling into shorter step beside Danny.

LaF and Perry must’ve headed back to their dorm already. The lights were out in the locker room proper, and the air seemed tinted with the vaguest hint of Febreeze and aerosol disinfectants.

“The third baseman going missing, I mean,” Laura clarified. “Not the Harpies thing. That’s an actual thing?”

“They’re not so bad,” Danny clarified. “A few swats with this, and they disperse like a cloud of gnats. But Elsie… well, I’ve been doing a little digging on my own time.”

“Between TAing and playing and Summer Society-ing and sweeping unsuspecting freshman onto medical tables?” Laura teased. “Wherever do you find the time?”

Danny shrugged. “She’s a teammate. And no new transfer recruit will replace her, until we find out what happened. The athletics administrator seems content to sweep it under the rug. I guarantee if this had been a football player, there’d be a full-scale investigation.”

“The faults of Title IX, and the double standards seemingly implicit in collegiate athletics,” Laura sighed, nowhere near resigned. “It sucks ‘cause you know no one’s gonna do anything about it. At least you’re trying something.”

“Well, my time might be more monopolized once we get full swing into the semester.”

“Then let me help you!” Laura said. “I mean, I’m a journalism major. I thought I’d take a crack at sports broadcasting, but I’m really enjoying my investigative journalism and feature writing classes. I could do some digging while you do some grading, and we could partner up.”

“I think we’d make a pretty great team,” Danny agreed. “Figure out what happened to Elsie, grab some pie in the meantime, take a couple’a cuts with the bat.”

“Just… hang out,” Laura supplied.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Good plan.”

“Good plan. We’ll have to start our team bonding exercises and stuff soon,” Danny said, taking a casual slash at the air as a very large _something_ swooshed by overhead. “That new third baseman Coach is bringing in is supposedly a real piece of work. But she’s the Athletic Director’s daughter, or something, so she’s getting to squeak past all the normal recruiting deadlines.”

“I’m excited to bond with a new team, but…” Laura chanced a glance upwards, and there was that stare again—all care and guilelessness and complete attention—directed towards her tiny person. “I’m really excited to get to know the captain better.”

“I try to get to know all the new additions to the team, but… I might have taken a vested interest in one player.”

“Oh really?” Laura said playfully.

Danny stopped below one of the oak trees in front of the quad and slung the bat over her shoulder. She cupped Laura’s jaw with her free hand and tilted her face skyward, dipping down, depositing a sweet, brief kiss to her upper lip. Her calloused finger barely traced the outline of Laura’s ear; she couldn’t tell whether it was the ice at her side or the touch near her temple, but Laura was certain she was shivering.

“Really,” Danny said, stepping out into the dimly lit sidewalk with a bat slung over her shoulder, her free hand extended. “How about that pie, Hollis?”

Laura walked hand-in-hand with Danny toward the caf. Once seated and sated, she only dished out the slightest bit of flirtatious teasing about the smeared blueberry on Danny’s cheek before walking toward Danny’s side of the booth, bending down, and kissing it away.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh... it's so fluffy I'm gonna die. Would love any feedback you cared to provide! Critiques are always welcome!


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